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Story:The Wrong Reflection/Best Laid Plans
|author = |published = 18 August 2014 |stardate = February 2410 |next = |previous= }} We’ve been at battle stations for the last twenty minutes, with the Bajor’s attack wing positioned near the rear of the fleet. “Fleet”, hell. That implies there’s some kind of organization. Despite Kree’s efforts it’s a hodgepodge of ships from four nations with wildly different protocols and doctrines. The geeks spent the first eighteen hours of the trip just getting a shared battlenet set up, and our own element contains three escorts, a pre-Wolf 359 scoutship, and an under-armed science ship. A Galaxy wing in the Dominion War would’ve had at least a couple midsize cruisers. Oh, well. As long as they can screen the Bajor properly so we can do the heavy lifting, I suppose the actual composition doesn’t matter. I trust T’Var and Kurland at least to do their jobs; the rest is up to me and mine. Still, it’s a little disconcerting that none of my flankers are even the size of my saucer. But then again, the only other big ships in the entire fleet are Kree’s Hanson and Dominant, Km’prala’s Negh’Var-class, and that Zilant-class, S’Slee. Hell, all Brokosh brought was his own Tor’Kaht-class BC and a couple birds-of-prey, and yet he thinks he can knock out those defense sats. For now, it’s business as usual: the bridge crew is playing musical chairs, trading off consoles getting their vacsuits on, and I’m chatting with T’Var and Brokosh. Technically we’re supposed to be observing radio silence except for mission-critical communications, but realistically it’s impossible to intercept a tight-beam at this range. The video’s a little distorted from passing through two warp fields but we can still hold a conversation. “Captain, that is most impressive,” she says. “Rear Admiral Tuvok was able to defeat the Cooper Undine at Spacedock but I have never heard of any non-telepath coming close to overcoming an Undine psi master.” “I think I got lucky, actually. I don’t think he, or she maybe… T’Var, do Undine even have a ‘he’ and ‘she’?” “I believe they have five biological sexes, Captain.” “Whatever. I think he was just trying to hurt me, not control me. So I basically just held my ground until he was convinced I was worth listening to.” “Ballsy,” Brokosh comments. “Stupid, but ballsy.” “Well, if it works…” Tess touches my shoulder. “All sections reporting secure and ready, ma’am.” “Thank you, Tess. How much longer?” “Ten minutes.” “All right, take over. I have to go put my suit on.” She nods and I look back to the screen. “We’ll talk more later, T’Var, Brokosh.” I get up and head to the back door of the bridge. The doors close behind me and I walk around the corner to the locker room. I find mine, pull my vacsuit out of storage, and unzip and shrug out of my new white-on-black “Odyssey” uniform jacket when suddenly strong hands, stronger than mine, grab me and pull me backwards. I drop my suit and start to fight but then I hear Gaarra’s voice whisper in my ear in Kendran, “Gotcha.” “Dammit, you scared the phekk out of me!” He kisses my neck and my back arches instinctively, pressing my upper back into his pecs. I break his grip and turn around and he captures my mouth and our tongues wrestle hungrily. Then he pulls away. “Something’s wrong?” I shake my head and sit down on the bench facing him. “Just pre-mission jitters, the usual.” “You’re worried?” “I’m captain of the ship. It’s my job to be worried.” He smiles and puts a comforting hand on my cheek. “Don’t be. We know our jobs. Anything that can be done, we’re doing.” I lean into his palm and close my eyes. “I know. But I’m still scared.” He pulls me into a tight embrace. “We’ll be fine. We always are.” He loosens his grip a bit and looks me in the eye. “Did you sleep all right, at least?” “No nightmares, no alarms. Actually managed to get a full nine hours for once.” He smiles. “You’ve got it made. Oh, by the way.” He reaches into his locker and pulls out a jumja stick. “My grandmother’s recipe. Picked up the ingredients at that new gourmet store on DS9.” I eagerly grab it from him and take a lick. “Tangy.” “That’ll be the moba juice.” “You know just how to cheer me up,” I say, grinning at him. “Wasn’t that hard to figure out,” he answers, grinning back. I laugh, suck on the jumja stick for a moment, then lean in and kiss him. “You taste nice.” I break off the kiss for a moment. “Computer, lock the door. I don’t want any interruptions.” Off his look, “Oh, come on, we’ve got a few minutes.” ---- The Bajor’s warp field gently collapses and we drop back to sublight speed, with the rest of the fleet fanned out before us. “Contact, contact!” Admiral Kree bellows over the comms. “Reading forty, repeat, four-zero, Terran capital ships and two squadrons of Peregrine-class attack fighters, point-nine light-seconds out!” Captain Zell adds, “USS Marduk, launching Alert Five wing!” “Tactical analysis coming in!” Esplin announces. I look over the plot as the battlespace forms and the battlenet comes online. It’s hardly ideal. We have a slight numerical advantage but they’ve got the edge in tonnage—signals are coming in from thirteen heavy hitters: nine Typhoon-class battleships, three Regent-class cruisers, and a Galaxy-class ship like mine. Wait, something’s odd on the plot. “Kanril to Kree, what the hell is Brokosh’s group doing?” They came out of warp doing almost a tenth the speed of light and are now way out ahead of us. “Watch and learn, Captain,” Brokosh answers instead. “Strike package away! Breaking off!” “Strike package away!” Commander Alvek’s voice echoes. I’m told Brokosh handpicked two non-Klingon captains for his unit: Alvek’s another Lethean, Saurussa’s a Gorn. The second bird-of-prey repeats the call and all three ships curve off in a turn that has to be hard on their inertial dampeners. “''quv DaHutlh DuplI’, leHengan!” Km’prala yells at him. Brokosh ignores her and Kree tells her to clear the channel unless she has something useful to add. “Captain, look!” Tess points at the plot. Suddenly both of the defense satellites and several of the enemy ships, including the Galaxy-class, flicker and vanish from the plot, and momentary stars appear on our forward viewscreen. I open a private channel. “''Bajor to HoSbatlh, what the hell was that?” “Kinetic attack. Drop ten tons of material out of your cargo bay at a good percentage of the speed of light and watch the magic. Rejoining formation.” He’s evened the odds somewhat but it’s still going to be rough. As our two fleets close, Kree calls, “Keep the Bajor in one piece, no matter what. Forward elements at torpedo range in one minute. All ships, weapons free. Green light, repeat green light to engage.” “Conn,” I order Park, “take us relative up so we can get a clear shot.” A multicolored salvo of torpedoes lead the way in both directions as the lead elements open fire. The two fleets clash, merge, and then it’s a general melee. The voices on the comms echo and overlap: “Cobra Two to Gold Seven, you’ve picked one up—” “''Prakesh'' to Teghbat, come right so we can—” “—he’s on me tight, I can’t shake him—” “GHS Xrathis, launching aceton assimilator—” “—switch to attack pattern Shran Omega! Get a lock and pop that guy—” “—quantum mines away!” A blinding flash below us as somebody’s warp core goes, then a burning bird-of-prey swings past several kilometers ahead of us, pursued by a Defiant-class. Tess announces, “I have a lock! Firing!” The Bajor hums with energy as the dorsal phaser strip goes into rapid fire and searing hot lances stab out into space. One misses but the rest slam into the port shields, knocking the ship reeling. It breaks off its pursuit, spins hard to starboard and comes about. “''Olokun'', engaging target.” A stream of phaser bolts spits from the emitters on T’Var’s Ushaan-class, ripping open the forward shield arc as Tess fires a pair of torpedoes on a parabolic course, catching the pancake-shaped starship head-on. Its torpedo magazine goes off and rips it to shrapnel. “''Patrick Henry'', requesting assistance! We’re engaged with five, repeat five! We’re in deep shit!” “We’re coming in,” Brokosh’s voice answers. “Meromi, scatter mode.” Sickly green energy packets blast in from the bulldog-like Tor’Kaht-class as we add our full broadside to the beleaguered Freedom-class. “''Dominant'' engaging Damar’s target!” Not related to us; I ignore it. “This is Jagul Macet! Moving to assist Patrick Henry!” Two Galor-class cruisers led by a Keldon-class battleship sweep in, main disruptors blazing at the Nova, Centaur, and Excalibur-class ships attacking the old scout vessel. Engaged from three directions, they don’t stand a chance. The Excalibur breaks in half amidships when we and Macet’s Seldyn both hit it at once, Brokosh’s fire shatters the Nova and sends two of the Centaurs into a core breach, and the third starts to flee but catches parting shots from us and the Henry and vanishes in a fireball. “''Henry'' to nd’Ashalef. I’ve got heavy casualties and I’ve lost an impulse engine and two phasers. Requesting permission to withdraw.” “Permission granted, Commander Gutierrez.” The single-nacelled ship comes about and vanishes into the distance. We fire, and fire, and fire some more. An enemy Regent-class engages us but the Marduk sweeps past, forward cannons raking across its dorsal surface. Our forward phasers smash down their shields and the Laporin and Olokun lay into it with torpedoes and guns. A pylon rips off and the saucer breaks open, laying a dozen decks open to space. The battle blurs. I’m in the zone, absorbing information from four or more sources at once and simply reacting, barking orders on instinct. A Hideki-class and a Danube-class violently explode off our port bow under fire from an Excalibur-class. A Tuatara-class collides with an enemy Typhoon and the Terran ship cracks in two. The Luna-class Jadzia Dax falls out of the fight with one nacelle shorn off and her mission pod leaking atmo and debris; part of Kree’s VFA-144 Spitting Cobras peels off to cover Captain Emyahl. Tess blows a Centaur-class out of the sky. Fighters dance among the dueling warships, hitting targets of opportunity and turning into miniature suns under fire. A Steamrunner-class and an enemy Saber-class whip through the fight spitting cannonfire at each other. Phaserfire hisses into our port shields and Tess pays it back with interest. Late in the fight a trio of Defiant-class ships rush us, raking the saucer with their cannons. We reinforce the shields and they hold, barely. I hear part of a damage report; we’ve lost power to part of the main dorsal phaser. Biri catches one with a tractor beam and the QarchetvI’ hammers it to fragments with her underslung heavy guns. Another hits a still-active mine left by the Gorn. Its engines flame out and it goes into an end-over-end tumble out of the battlespace. Master Chief Wiggin hollers, “Captain, I lost track of the third one! Playing back… Damn, he cloaked!” Nd’Ashalef’s voice comes through the P.A., “All units near USS Bajor, configure main deflector for antiproton sweep!” There’s a pause, then, “This is Gul Antos, I’ve got him! He’s making another run at the Bajor—Kanril, on your port side!” A salvo of torpedoes from an Armitage-class escort carrier hammers into us and the Olokun and the pancake-shaped Defiant decloaks and opens fire. “Port shields at five percent!” Tess yells frantically. “Locking weapons!” “Conn, roll ship!” Wiggin shouts, “They’re accelerating, aiming for the secondary hull!” Damn it all. I got sloppy. Or nd’Ashalef did. All our flankers except the Olokun were covering the other side. And now this phekk’ta maktal kosst amojan has an opening for a ramming attack. Gaarra hollers something about diverting power to the SIF and Tess opens fire but the damaged phaser isn’t working right and they keep coming. “''Olokun'' to Bajor. We will stop them.” “T’Var, there’s nothing you can do! Your forward guns are shot to hell!” “There is one thing we can do. I am sorry we could not continue our conversation from earlier, but the mission comes first. All hands, abandon ship. Live long and prosper, Captain Kanril.” On the side camera the oncoming Defiant-class is eclipsed by T’Var’s larger Ushaan-class, now spewing escape pods. The two ships meet at an angle and the viewer is washed out by a blinding flash of white light, like a small star going nova, and just as quickly there’s nothing left but debris. “Wiggin, scan for survivors!” He pauses. “Reading seventeen life signs in the escape pods. Ten humans, two Bajorans, three Bolians, two Trill—” “Did T’Var get off, damn it?” He quietly answers, “No, ma’am. No Vulcan life signs detected. I’m sorry, ma’am.” “All units, all units,” Kree’s voice interrupts, “cease fire! Repeat, cease fire! I’ve just received an offer of surrender from an Admiral Dzhabrail Mahadeo. Repeat, the enemy has surrendered.” “Tess—” “''No'', Captain,” she says with finality. I start to say something but stop. Damn it, Eleya, you’re better than this. T’Var did her duty; so did the enemy. Then Biri speaks up. “Um, is this a bad time to say that we’re going to have to change the oplan?” “How so?” She shakes her head and hits her intercom key. “Admiral nd’Ashalef, Commander Ehrob, Lieutenant Korekh, please come to the command deck conference room.” “That bad?” We head to the door at the back of the bridge and down the corridor to the conference room. The Arkenite sits down in one of the conference room chairs, communications conferences Admiral Kree into the conversation, and Biri lays it out for us. “Basically, we can’t send but one ship over there.” “Why not?” nd’Ashalef asks. “Because the Bajor’s too big. If my calculations are correct, her passage will destabilize the portal in both directions for at least forty hours.” “What if we—” “Look, sir, we either send the Bajor by herself, or we send maximum two of the escort ships.” “Two ships can cover more ground,” nd’Ashalef points out. “Yes,” I agree, “but one warp signature’s harder to spot and the Bajor’s more likely to be mistaken for another Terran ship—they operate heavy units as independent commands just like we do.” “And the Bajor has better science gear than the others, except maybe the Laporin,” Biri adds. “I know for certain we’re harder to kill than the Laporin, and we can track the Orb’s energy signature better than the Defiant or the Dervish can.” “I don’t like it,” Gaarra says. “We’ll be behind enemy lines with no backup and no way back for almost two days.” “Never stopped us before,” I point out, then turn to the admiral. “Sir, you have the final word, of course, but I’m with Biri.” He scratches the back of his head, then looks to Kree, who nods. He looks at me again. “You’re certain you can handle it, Captain?” I nod. “All right, you have a go. We’ll unload my staff to the Dominant.” ---- “''Bajor'' to all units, we’re on our way. See you in a few days.” Brokosh’s voice responds, “''HoSbatlh'' to Bajor. Goddess walk with you, Captain Kanril.” The portal grows to fill the sky on the main viewscreen, then there’s a slight jolt and then we’re through to the other side. Park gooses the throttle to get us clear of the portal. “Damage report?” Tess answers, “Bynam reports a slight fluctuation in the warp coils but he’s got it under control.” “Rear view camera, please.” The viewscreen shifts. Biri wasn’t kidding about us destabilizing the portal; even I can see the difference. It didn’t exactly look safe before, but now it’s roiling and sparking. The Terrans must’ve spent months getting the fleet we just destroyed through. T’Var would’ve loved this. Even though she’d never have said. “I’ve got nothing on local sensors,” Tess comments. “The Terrans must think this end is more secure.” “Might say something about the status of the Alliance,” I comment. “Our side, this is Cardie territory. This side?” I let the question dangle, giving her a meaningful look. “All right, let’s see if we can get any location on that Orb. Master Chief?” Wiggin nods and turns to his console to enter the parameters. “Nothing on the Orb’s signature yet, but there’s something else. I’m picking up multiple warp signatures, mix of Klingon and Cardassian, headed to the third planet of the system. Call it five birds-of-prey, three cruisers, and that one’s definitely a Keldon-class. We’re about two hours out at warp 8. Also reading some Terran ships heading that way.” He stops for a moment, then adds, “Spooky.” “What is?” “Just, their warp fields look exactly like ours. Cognitive dissonance, you know? They look friendly but you know up here”—he points at his temple—“that they aren’t.” “I guess. I never thought about it.” “Well, you’re not a sensor technician, ma’am.” I ignore that. “All right, Park, set a course for the Alliance ships. Tess, stand us down from battle stations but keep us on yellow alert. And take over, I need to handle something.” “Ma’am?” “A personal matter.” “Yes, ma’am.” “You have the bridge, Tess.” “I have the bridge,” she confirms. I get up and walk to the turbolift. “Deck 8.” “Hold that,” Gaarra says behind me. “Gaarra?” “I didn’t know T’Var, but I know you, Captain.” I smile. “Thank you.” Because my crew has a larger-than-average percentage of Bajorans, I had one of the undeveloped rooms on this deck turned into a chapel. I don’t use it very often but it was a popular idea. We’ve even got a chaplain, Simene Jyn’fossy, a Foundation Reformist prylar from our colony on Dreon VII. She’s not a member of Starfleet, of course, just a contractor. At the moment she’s keeping watch over the Orb of Possibilities. She’s got light brown hair and a face that is perpetually calm and peaceful, and she reaches out to me. “Captain. What happened?” “I lost a friend. I lost a very good friend.” “I’m sorry. How can I help?” “I wanted to borrow a duranja lamp. If that’s all right; I mean, she wasn’t an adherent.” “The Prophets won’t mind.” She grasps my ear, but she’s gentle. “Your pagh is in turmoil, Captain. Talk to me. How do you feel?” “I feel … guilty.” I’m a little surprised, but that’s the best description. “T’Var sacrificed herself to save the mission and me, but I’m focusing on her when probably a thousand or more of our people just died. Hell, at least two of my own crew in Phaser One bought it.” She nods. “Nothing to be guilty about. You knew T’Var. You didn’t know any of the others.” She goes to the closet and removes a bronze oil lamp and frame. “Do you know how this works, the rituals?” I nod. She opens a panel in the base and plugs a cable into the base and turns it on. It’s a hologram, of course. Can’t have an actual open flame on a starship, but it’s the thought that counts. I face the flame and close my eyes. “''Raka-jen ut shala morala… ema bo roo kana… uranek… ralanon'' T’Var''… propeh va nara ehsuk shala-kan vunek…''” Author’s Notes See? I can be cruel. I can write a decently characterized supporting character, make it clear Eleya cares about her, and then kill her off. At least T’Var got to go out taking one for the team instead of being a straight redshirt. Translating ‘Lethean’ into tlhIngan Hol (where Km’prala calls Brokosh ‘''leHengan''’) gave me some trouble. The language lacks a ‘th’ diphthong so I had to come up with a substitute and I figured the phlegmy ‘H’ was about as close as I could get (‘tlh’ is more of a tongue-click). “Lethe” became “''leHe''”, followed by the suffix “''-ngan''” for “inhabitant of”. ----